Asher Evans is a man haunted by history. Turned vampire in the concentration camp that claimed his family, he has never recovered from the loss of his humanity. Removed from the mundane world and resigned to facing eternity alone, he’s completely unprepared when the unthinkable happens: he meets a girl.

As the youngest daughter of San Francisco’s most prestigious psychic family, Grace Alan has always known about the things that go bump in the night. She especially knows about monsters…including the fact that she is one. Grace has spent her entire life trying to be normal, and finally, things seem to be looking up. There’s only one problem.

She’s just been murdered.

When Asher stumbles upon a dying Grace, he knows he should leave her to her fate. But in a world that looks at him and sees only a monster, Grace reminds him what it feels like to be human. He can’t bring himself to let her die.

Unfortunately, rescuing her has consequences. Female vampires have been illegal for centuries. In saving Grace, Asher may have condemned them both.

Traffic was
scant on The Embarcadero. Even going at
a light pace, it didn't take long to reach Fisherman's Wharf. A stiff wind was blowing in off the Bay, and
the crowds of tourists had long since departed in favor of warmer
retreats. Seagulls feasted on the scraps
of sourdough bread bowls sticky with clam chowder left in their wake.

A lone street
musician remained on the empty sidewalk.
He was seated on a small, rusty stool, a battered guitar perched on his
knees. He sang in a haunting tenor, his
voice crisp and clear in the stillness.
The words of the song echoed off the surrounding buildings.

Someone to watch
over me...

Asher stopped. "This song was written the year I was
born."

Grace didn't
answer. Asher was about to look down
when her hand slipped into his.

Perhaps it was
the cold. Perhaps he was still high from
the streetcar ride or the race down Market Street. Either way, he clearly wasn't in his right
mind, because instead of pushing her away, he spun her around so she was
squarely in his arms.

Grace coiled her
fingers through his, lifted her other hand and rested it on his shoulder. She met his eyes. Asher wasn't sure what she saw there. A blush stole across her cheeks, but she
didn't look away. "You'll have to
show me how."

Asher released
the breath. He hadn't been aware he was
holding it. Gently, he reached up and
adjusted her hand on his shoulder. Then
he set his hand to her waist. "It's
easy. Just move with me."

He heard her
breath stutter, and her hand trembled a little in his. For some inexplicable reason, that pleased
him. He firmed his other hand against
her back, and started to move. It was
nothing complicated, just a simple two-step he'd seen his parents do. Asher closed his eyes. For a moment, he could almost remember a time
when things had been normal. A time when
he'd been happy.

A time when he'd
been human.

He jerked his
eyes open again. His throat ached. He swallowed ruthlessly, tried to lock down
the place inside him that felt poised to crack wide open. He started to pull back.

Grace's fingers
tightened around his, and she rested her cheek against his chest. Her hand slid from his shoulder and curled
around the back of his neck.

Asher wasn't
sure he remembered how to breathe.
"Grace," he whispered.
The emptiness inside him expanded.
"I can't..."

"It's
easy." He felt her voice in every
fiber of his being. "Just move with
me."

Asher stared
down at her. The emptiness receded a
little. The vise around his chest
loosened. He closed his eyes again and
let Grace hold him, let the scent of patchouli leak into his senses and anchor
him firmly in the present moment.

They danced
until the song ended, and the street musician finally packed away his guitar.

About the Author:

L.J.K Oliva writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, with a heavy dash of suspense. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters… and knows the darkest ones don’t live in closets.